


A Gift of Chains

by Allubttoa



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Action & Romance, Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Edward's Potty Mouth, Explicit Language, F/M, Forced Bonding, Kidnapping, M/M, Military Intrigue, POV Alternating, Plot, Post-Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood, Slow Build, Soul Bond, alchemy experiments
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-15
Updated: 2017-11-29
Packaged: 2019-01-17 18:50:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 19,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12371859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Allubttoa/pseuds/Allubttoa
Summary: West City Councilor Bertram will never forgive the State Alchemists for their part in the Promised Day Incident that nearly destroyed the country, especially the Flame Alchemist. He has a plan to put the alchemists in their place once and for all, and he's going to use their own art to do it.Meanwhile, Ed is just passing through West City on his way to meet up with his brother. But of course, Ed could never stay out of trouble for very long.





	1. In which a Plot is Hatched

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place after the manga/brotherhood ending, however, the use of manga only characters is limited, and you could read this with only knowledge of the original anime if you wanted. 
> 
> This is my take on the wonderfulness that is the soul bond trope. Hope you enjoy.

***  
**The Secretary**  
*** 

West City prison, Katrin Colman thought, looked like it had marched straight out of some gothic crime novel. It was a castle, all clawed turrets and spidery buttresses, and it loomed over the buildings around it, casting wide shadows no matter the time of day. 

The story went, that in the days when West City had still belonged Creta and was called Thüringen, the building had been the home of a famed military general. He held the city against Amestris for over a year and a half. But when they finally captured him, as a final humiliation, the Amestrian military turned the man’s castle mansion into a holding camp and final execution center for all the captured Cretan soldiers. It was said that their screams could still be heard in the castle’s dark hallways. 

To be honest, Secretary Colman was afraid of the castle turned prison. She could definitely see a ghost or two taking up residence here in the way the walls seemed to suck the warmth from her skin and in how the ancient stones echoed every little noise and movement. But still, as a non-military personnel and a woman to boot, Katrin had clawed her way up the ranks of power in West City, enduring all manner of jabs, taunts, and setbacks. Now, as the personal assistant to the most powerful man in West City, she was not about to let her discomfort show. 

She walked a step behind her boss, Councilor Berthold Bertram, de facto leader of West City, a notebook in hand. His silence was contemplative as they were led further into the prison. Bertram had been spending more and more time recently either locked up in his office, presumably researching some new project, or visiting this very prison. But this was the first time Katrin, or anyone at all, had been asked to accompany him. Katrin allowed herself a moment of pride at that thought. _This_ is what she had worked so hard for. Bertram wanted her presence, and that was enough. 

As they descended several spiral staircases (more remnants of the prison’s history) the stone walls gave way to wood. The hallway seemed to close in on them. Bertram held up a hand, and the guards escorting them halted. “We can take it from here, boys,” he said crisply. Bertram was a tall, thin, some would say, gaunt man. He was balding, but had declined to attempt the comb over sported by many men his age. Katrin found this indicative. 

The guards nodded without comment and turned. They would take up residence at the end of the hallway, not moving until Bertram and his secretary had returned. Bertram faced Katrin and motioned that they should keep walking. “You haven’t asked yet why we’re here,” he noted. 

“If it were important,” Katrin replied, “You would have told me.” 

“Hmn.” They walked in silence for a moment, and then Bertram spoke. “Do you know why the walls are lined with wood here?” 

Katrin answered, “It’s one of the harder materials for alchemists to transmute isn’t it?” She knew, just like anyone else who lived near this prison, about the other more recent addition to its infamous reputation. The upheaval in Central three years ago had left much of Amestris’s infrastructure in shambles. The alchemist wing of Central Prison had been dismantled and all the crazies sent here, to West City. 

“Yes, they had to design a way to completely line the walls without any sort of metal or stone. Took a square foot off the hallways.” That explained the hallway’s narrow, oppressive feeling, although that might have also been a natural product of the prison itself. 

So they were going to talk to one of the alchemists interned here? Katrin was surprised that Bertram would have anything to discuss with an alchemist, especially one presumably locked up for crimes against the state. Bertram was infamous for his distrust of alchemy and its practitioners, and in fact he was responsible for much of the anti-alchemy legislation brought before the West City Council. 

Bertram spoke again, surprising her as they came to the end of the hallway and stood before a lone door. “Wood is actually just as easy as anything else to transmute. The reason they line the walls with it, is because few alchemists learn how to transmute organic plant materials in the course of their studies.” He snorted derisively. “It’s not as easy to use to blow people up.” 

Katrin dared to look him in the eyes. His gaze was piercing. “You sure do know a lot about the subject for one who’s not a practitioner of the arts, sir.” 

“A man who doesn’t learn everything he can about his enemies is a fool.” Bertram’s eyes held hers. “This is big Katrin. Bigger than any of us. I need to know. Can I trust you with this?” 

She looked at the man to whom she had dedicated her life to. This was the man who had fought for democracy during the Bradley administration, who had opposed the state alchemy program when to do so was political suicide. “I’m with you to the end of the line, sir.” 

He nodded once, and then he turned to the door. It was heavy, made of the same wood as the hallways, and locked with a bar. “We’ll be speaking with an alchemist named Viktor Schmidt. He’s been working on a project for me for a few months now. However, I don’t trust him, and recently he’s been more uncooperative that usual. Your job for today at least, is simply to observe him. Maybe you’ll see something that I cannot.” 

“Yes, sir.” Katrin wasn’t sure what she expected to find as they lifted the heavy bar. Maybe a hulking monster chained to the wall. Or perhaps, given the dungeon-esque quality of this prison, a starved skeleton living off the rats. Viktor Schmidt was neither of those things. 

He was of middling height and weight, certainly not starving, and he sat at a desk, wooden of course, in the corner of his cell. It was by far the nicest thing in the room. From the desk, a faint scratching sound could be heard. A wax candle was the only source of light. 

Schmidt didn’t lift his head from where he was bent over the desk, but he drawled, “My tormenter returns. How…dull.” His voice was low and catching in a way that _made_ you listen. 

Bertram strode over to the man. “I’ve come to check on your progress, Binding Alchemist.” 

At that, the alchemist finally turned around. His eyes were sharp and glinting in the dim light. “If masterpieces could be completed in a few months’ time, everyone would have one,” he said dismissively. Again his voice had that same silky quality that put her hair on edge. Somehow he managed to look down at them from his sitting position. He frightened her in the same primal way as this prison. 

She saw that he had several papers with what looked like hand written notes and a pencil stub on his desk. Katrin resisted the urge to look aghast at her superior. Giving an alchemist paper and pencil was like giving a murderer a gun, but if he wasn’t bothered then she shouldn’t be either. 

As if sensing her discomfort, Schmidt focused his studying gaze on her. He looked her up and down, and then he dismissed her, face falling again to disinterest. She didn’t have long to be indignant however, because Bertram drew their attention to back to himself. “Explain it to me then,” he pressed, “Where you are in your research. What you need to complete the task I’ve set for you.” 

“Come back with a military budget and ten years to wait.” 

Bertram was undeterred. “I want to know the details of what you’ve accomplished so far, before I sink any kind of resources into feeding your ego.” 

Schmidt laughed, sharp and hollow. He bent back down over his desk. “You wouldn’t understand.” 

“Then use small words.” 

Schmidt’s lips curled in a snarl. Katrin looked from one man to the other. Something in the way Bertram was holding himself spoke to his true tension, and she couldn’t help but be reminded of the long hours he had been spending alone recently, consumed. 

When Schmidt finally answered, every word dripped with distain. “To have the power to take away a person’s alchemy at will, as you wish to do, by definition requires that first one understand how someone attains alchemical talent in the first place. That’s the first step, and it’s impossible from the start.” 

_As he wished to do_ …Take away alchemy? Katrin’s breath caught in her chest. Was such a thing even possible? Katrin dared to speak up. “I was under the impression such talent was attained with great study,” she said softly. Bertram crossed him his arms, but did not rebuke her. 

“And yet, many study for years only to discover they have no capability, no better than any other imbecile from the street.” Schmidt pointed out, finally showing interest in his visitors. He turned back around, and his voice took on a lecturing sort of tone. 

He loved it, Katrin realized. He loved the study of it, the intricacies of his work. For all that he played up his dislike of Bertram, he was enjoying the opportunity to captivate his audience. She wondered if this was why Bertram had brought her along, to help bait Schmidt into explaining in greater detail whatever it was that he was working on for Bertram. 

Bertram leaned forward, a bit of sweat on his brow betraying him, and asked just a hint too eagerly, “Then what makes alchemists like the Flame so much more powerful than the rest?” 

Schmidt’s goodwill dropped away in an instant. He frowned at Bertram. “Bah…always with this Flame. My talents are wasted on the likes of you.” He quite suddenly and rudely turned his back to his visitors, indicating he was very much done with this conversation. “Come back in five years. I might have something for you.” 

So this was what he meant by uncooperative. Katrin could see Bertram’s mouth twisting. He was about to do or say something regrettable, and he obviously needed this alchemist for something that was yet to be complete. She quick cut in again, before Bertram could reply. “I understand that wasn’t the point you were trying to make, Major Schmidt,” she said, purposely using his title. She waited for the alchemist to swivel back around before she continued. Her heart thudded in her chest. “The question isn’t what’s the difference between a terrible alchemist and the Flame Alchemist. The question is what’s the difference between _any_ alchemist and a normal person.” 

She swallowed and allowed herself that small moment of victory as Schmidt regarded her. She could feel Bertram’s hard gaze on her back, but she refused to look at him. If he hadn’t wanted her involved, then he shouldn’t have brought her. Katrin had three years of university under her belt. If Schmidt wanted to play professor to her inquisitive student, to have his ego stroked, then she could oblige. Perhaps in this case her femininity made the difference as well. It must have been a long time since this alchemist had seen anyone but the guards and Bertram. 

Schmidt’s eyes once again roved over her, but this time his gaze made her feel unclean. “And what do you think, the difference is, little rabbit?” he asked in a low voice. 

“What do I think the difference is?” 

“That’s what I asked.” 

Hiding her distaste, Katrin’s mind raced through her limited knowledge of alchemy. It wasn’t very helpful. “An alchemist is different than a lay person because he knows what’s supposed to happen during a transmutation,” she guessed lamely. She knew it couldn’t be the right answer. Of course an alchemist would know what was supposed to happen in a transmutation. That’s what made them alchemists. Was it enough to keep him interested? 

Apparently so, because his gaze was laser focused on to her now. He completely ignored Bertram, which was most likely a good thing. “But you also know what should happen,” he said impatiently. “If I asked you to take that wax over there and reshape it into the form of a doll, you know that after drawing the correct transmutation and touching the circle, you would see flashes of energy, and the wax would be transformed.” His gaze leveled. “ _So why can’t you do that_?” 

The combined attention of Schmidt and Bertram made her feel incredibly uncomfortable. Part of her, a large part, wanted to be glib and retort that she couldn’t do that because she _didn’t_ know the correct transmutation. She _wasn’t_ an alchemist. His demanding gaze had long begun to grate her. However, she had to get this right. For Bertram. 

I don’t know the chemical composition of the wax?” she guessed again. 

“You aren’t changing its composition,” he said dismissively. “Just the shape. Close, but try again.” 

Katrin bit her lip, but she couldn’t think of another guess. 

Schmidt finally sighed and demanded. “If I drew the correct circle for you, told you that this candle was made out petroleum, which is a mixture of hydrocarbons, and I told you all you had to do was put your hands on the circle and will the power to come to you, could you do it then? 

Katrin hesitated. “I don’t think so.” 

He slammed his fist on the desk. “WHY?” 

“I…I don’t know to make a candle change shape. I don’t understand the…” 

“Understanding,” Schmidt cut in thunderously. She could feel Bertram’s tension behind her. The alchemist pointed at the candle. “As we said, this candle is made up of countless hydrocarbons, and to change its shape, I have to break down the bonds of every single one of them and reshape them to my desire.” He looked at her. “Alchemy, little rabbit, is an art of understanding. As you earlier correctly surmised, study helps in that understanding. I can learn a theory of how the atoms on this candle are bonded together. I can learn how to estimate how many molecules take up the space of this candle. I can learn energy conversion ratios. That helps.” He looked at her. “But the question is, can one _know_ with certainty exactly how many molecules make up this one candle, or what _exactly_ happens to them as I break them down?” 

“No?” 

“No,” he agreed. “And yet alchemists do. To perform alchemy, an alchemist must at least for an instant, grasp all the intricate connections of the thing they are hoping to change. All is one and one is all.” He smiled grimly at her. “You cannot perform alchemy because you cannot begin to grasp that connection, that _Truth_ of the world.” 

“But then,” Katrin thoughtlessly asked, caught up now in the discussion, “why do some people have that ability and some don’t?” She glanced quickly back to see that Bertram’s face had become unreadable. 

Schmidt shrugged. “Who knows?” He shifted in his chair so that he was leaning into her space. She struggled not to move away. “Still, we now know the answer to what gives an alchemist his power,” he said, back in lecturing mode. “It’s his ability to understand the truth of the world, even if only for an instant.” 

He looked at her in expectation, and she realized belatedly that he wasn’t done playing teacher. “Mr. Bertram here, my dear pupil, has asked us to perform a seemingly impossible task.” Bertram hissed at that. Schmidt spoke over him. “He wants us to find a way to control when a person can and can’t perform alchemy, to tether them to some form of infallible authority. Now how would _you_ do that?” 

Tether alchemists? _So that was what her boss had been spending such long hours on._ Strange that it was through Schmidt and not Bertram that she had received the truth. She thought back to the disaster of the Promised Day. Fifty million people choking, dying at once. 

Alchemists needed to be controlled. She was certain of that, but they were also one of pillars of the Amestrian military. Without them, Amestris would be vulnerable to her angry neighbors. Bertram had said this was bigger than any of them, but she’d had no idea of the scope he was really planning. To chain the alchemists? Bertram was going take back this country from the alchemists that strangled it, and somehow his plan revolved around this man, an alchemist himself, the Binding Alchemist. 

How would she tether an alchemist? “I would chain their hands?” she said, knowing again it was the wrong answer. 

Schmidt snorted, and his voice took on that bored, impatient tone. “Chains break. At some point Drachma calls, and you must release those chains and hope for the best. Again.” 

They were looking for some method that was more fundamental than a physical chain. Something that worked all the time, something that let an alchemist perform only when directed. She thought back to their previous topic. He wouldn’t have tried so hard to make her understand that basic feature of alchemy if it weren’t important. She took a deep breath and looked the man directly in the eyes. “How do I temporarily suppress an alchemist’s ability to grasp the _Truth_?” 

Schmidt’s eyes glittered. “I thought you’d never ask. _Now_ you see the delicacy, the genius, of what I am attempting.” After giving her a triumphant smirk, Schmidt turned back to Bertram, and there his face lost most of its excitement. It was clear that he was much less fond of the Councilor than the newcomer in Katrin. He began to shuffle his papers together. “I need test subjects,” he said curtly. 

Bertram looked calculatingly at him. He seemed to have mastered his displeasure at being left out of the conversation. “I thought you were stalled in your research,” he accused. 

Schmidt rolled his eyes. “Staring at paper is not going to bring me any further. I need test subjects,” he insisted. 

Bertram glared at him for a moment and then finally replied, “You’ll get them.” Katrin looked at Bertram is shock, but he didn’t meet her gaze. 

Schmidt continued, “I need a specific one.” 

“Who?” 

Schmidt’s eyes were hard and captivating. “The Fullmetal Alchemist. You know the one. Hero of the East, supposedly on the short side.” Katrin did know him, or at least she knew of him. There were very few who didn’t after the Promised Day incident. What was so special about him? 

Bertram sighed and asked the obvious question. “Why do you suddenly need him?” 

“Because Edward Elric is the only person in the world to have lost his ability to see the Truth. He’s the key to figuring out how to do it to others.” 

Katrin frowned, feeling lost again, and Schmidt laughed. “Oh how I love to watch the cogs turn on their dull faces.” She scowled at him. “An alchemist’s power lies in his knowledge, not his hands,” he said with a little flourish, “and you cannot chain knowledge. Well, _you_ cannot.” 

“The Fullmetal is a direct subordinate of the Flame Alchemist. That won’t be easy,” said Bertram. 

Schmidt just looked bored. “I told you what I need.” 

Bertram sighed and made to stand up. He’d obviously gotten what he came here for. “So you did.” 

*** 

As they left the cell and walked back up the many steps to the outside world, Bertram turned to his secretary and told her, “Major Schmidt has been working on this project for me ever since I discovered his potential. However, this is the first time he has deigned to talk to me about his theory, even a little. So thank you for that.” 

Katrin preened a bit, internally. Bertram was the kind of man who very comfortable in his own skin. He had strong, some would say inflexible, opinions of right and wrong, and he never wavered from that. It was validating to have approval from a man like that. 

She contemplated the strange alchemist who was locked away from humanity, arrogant and driven in his own way, but secretly desperate for human contact. “He frightens me.” Katrin admitted. 

“He shouldn’t. Schmidt is a man, like anyone else. He was a university professor before he was inducted into the state alchemy program. He taught chemistry.” 

Of course he had taught chemistry, thought Katrin. And she had been right, the man had gotten a thrill out of having a ‘pupil.’ 

Bertram continued, “His wife was in an automobile accident fifteen years ago. She was left brain dead and in a coma. That’s when he went to work for the military.” 

“How awful.” 

Bertram made a noncommittal noise. 

After they left the prison and climbed into the car, Katrin carefully drove through the narrow, uneven streets. Her mind was a whirlwind of thought. “What exactly did he do for the military, Sir? What _potential_ did you find?” 

“Hmph. I thought you’d never ask,” replied Bertram with a snort, causing a shiver to roll down her back at the repeated phrase. She tried to observe him as much as possible through the rearview mirror while still navigating the road. “They called him the Binding Alchemist,” Bertram said, chewing on the end of a pencil. She had yet to break him of that habit. “He was interested in removing the soul from the body and placing it in another.” 

Katrin swerved the car. “What?!” She felt slightly sick. The man they had just spoken to, the one who’s interest she had tried so hard to win, had done…that? 

Bertram’s eyes glittered. “Sickening isn’t it. The folly of the human heart.” It took Katrin a moment to grasp what Bertram was saying, but then she understood. Viktor Schmidt, once a university professor, his wife trapped inside of her broken body, lost to a fate almost worse than death. To take a soul from its body and place it in another… 

“He conducted experiments under the Bradley administration. They kept extensive notes.” He grimaced and added, “Towards the end, right before the Promised Day, Bradley himself commissioned Schmidt to begin a new project. He wanted Schmidt to use his research to find a way to control alchemists, to bind an alchemists’ access to what they called the Gate of Truth to another person who would then act as their handler, limiting when that alchemist could use their alchemy.” 

The Gate of Truth? Katrin thought back to the way Schmidt had described the Truth. “So alchemy really is something some people are born able to do, and others not?” 

Bertram snorted. “Hardly, even if Schmidt would like to think so. Alchemy is a science of understanding. Alchemists must study for years to achieve that understanding. Just because some people learn better, doesn’t mean we have to label it with mystical mumbo jumbo.” 

“But then what is this Gate of Truth?” Katrin asked, daring to be more direct. “How do you plan on using it to control alchemists?” 

“Alchemists supposedly receive their power from the earth’s energy, correct? Whatever Schmidt wants to label it, from what I understood of his notes, he is using alchemy to bind one’s access to that energy to a chosen non-alchemist handler. Then the alchemist can only act when allowed. That’s what we’re doing, using their own art against them.” 

Something about that didn’t seem right to Katrin, but she wasn’t sure how to express it. It seemed so fantastical an idea. Bertram had obviously been working on this for a long time now. If he said it was so, then it must be. She thought back uneasily to how quickly Bertram had agreed to give Schmidt test subjects. “Do you think he really needs the Fullmetal Alchemist, or was he just stalling us?” 

Bertram eyed her approvingly. “I wondered the same. But it doesn’t matter. In this at least, I’m at his mercy. What do you think?” 

Katrin hid her surprise that he would ask for her advice, but it warmed her nonetheless. “I wonder how he knows that the Fullmetal doesn’t have access to alchemy, if that’s even true. He’s been in prison the last three years.” She frowned at the thought. “That begs the question, where’s he getting his information?” 

Bertram surprised her even further. He leaned forward and placed his hand on her shoulder. “That’s why I need you now,” he said, giving her a squeeze. “Dig through all the military records you can find. Contact our sources in the east. Find me the Fullmetal Alchemist.” 

“Yes, Sir.” 

***  
**Edward Elric**  
***  
(One Month Later) 

Edward Elric tipped his head back, allowing the heat of the sun to wash over his face. Languidly, he sat at some tourist trap outdoor café near the train station, the kind Alphonse had always loved. Ed hiked his pants leg up unabashedly, exposing his automail to the sun’s rays as well. Pigeons twittered around, and children screeched. Having missed his connection to Central, he would have to spend the night in West City and catch the next train tomorrow morning. 

When he had been traveling with Alphonse, things like missing the train had never bothered him. Waiting in a hotel room, a train station, the barracks, or the dorms; it was all the same. But here, even as he enjoyed the sun, he could not escape the prickling sensation that something was missing. He could not stop himself from turning around to crack a joke to someone who was no longer there. Could not stop listening for the clank of armor that no longer existed. 

Creta had been cold, always raining, and full of people suspicious of outsiders. If he never went back, it would be too soon. Still, he had learned some things about himself while studying in the gloomy country. He sighed and closed his eyes against the sun. Edward Elric, he had found, did not like to be alone. 

Ed could not remember a time in his youth when Alphonse had not been there. For three years they had been all each other had. And then, Alphonse had just…left. Packed up his bags with a cheery smile and gone to Shing. Alphonse wanted to learn more about the healing art of Alchehestry. Ed could no longer transmute. At the time it had seemed so easy to let Alphonse have his own life. Ed would find something else to fulfil him. After all, this lack of purpose was a situation he had entered into willingly, a price gladly paid a thousand times over. 

And that was thing wasn’t it? The source of this creeping guilt. To want things to go back to the way they had been was tantamount to wishing the armor on Alphonse. It was reprehensible, beyond selfish. 

Ed opened his eyes and lifted his hands in front of his face. The left was worn and callused, evidence of a young life spent almost entirely in rough work and on the road. The right was softer and thinner. It appeared fragile in comparison, even after three years of physical therapy. He’d been told it would probably always be weaker, the lasting impact of its years spent languishing in the void. 

A hand was nothing compared to an entire body. 

Ed snorted and curled his hand into a fist. This was pathetic. ‘Get up,’ whispered a voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like Teacher. ‘Get up, Edward. You’ve still got two perfectly good feet.’ 

That was true. Moping around, wishing for things he couldn’t have was pointless, and he did not indulge in pointless things. He had learned to live with his hand just like he had learned to live with his automail leg and the accompanying ache. His days of traveling around with his brother were over, and that was a good thing. 

He thought about the telegram from Havoc recalling him back to Central. Alphonse was back in the country, and he had big news. Last Ed had heard, things were getting serious between Al and Mei. He could therefore easily guess what the news was about. As long as they weren’t pregnant. His brother was still only eighteen, even if he acted years beyond his age. 

It wasn’t like Ed missed the constant stressful search for the Philosopher’s Stone. It was nice to look at Alphonse and not be reminded vividly of their sin. But during those arduous years of searching Edward had never been lonely in the way he was now. Sure, he had felt alone at times, held apart by his sins and his drive to atone for then. But this was a different type of isolation, and somehow he wasn’t as adept at handling it. 

His first year after the Promised Day Incident had been spent helping his brother recover. It had consumed him the same way their prior search had consumed him. Then after his time in the hospital, Al decided he wanted to study healing applications of alchemy. Ed figured he could at least help research. After all, he hadn’t given up his prodigious knowledge and intellect to the thing that called itself Truth, just his abilities. Or so he thought. 

It soon became apparent, at least to him, that something vital was missing. The same leaps of intuition, they just didn’t come. The instinct, the _understanding_ that had always underlain his alchemical achievements simply was not there. Alphonse didn’t understand. He couldn’t. And Ed could not fully explain, except to say that losing his Gate had done more than take his physical ability to transmute away. It had taken some fundamental connection to the Truth of alchemy, and without that, studying alchemy even at a theoretical level was frustrating and unfulfilling. 

So when Al said he wanted to go to Shing to further his studies, Ed decided to remain behind. He had felt the need in those months of disappointment to prove that he was more than his alchemy. He wanted to find value beyond being the Fullmetal Alchemist. 

Not knowing what he wanted with his life, Ed decided to go to university. After a few months at the Central University, Edward heard about a professor in Creta, one who was studying the ancient civilization of Xerxes. The original alchemists, Ed and Al’s legacy. Maybe learning about where they had come from would help Ed figure out where he was going. That was the idea at least. 

“Will you be taking the check now?” 

Ed looked up from his slouched position to find the waitress leaning over him, her hands on her hips. His voice was gruff when he answered, “Yeah, that’s fine.” 

“Hmpf.” 

Ed collected his things, a small suitcase, hat and coat, and handed her a wad of cash as she returned. The idea of spending the evening in his hotel room was rather unappealing, so instead he decided to walk around the city. He’d never actually been beyond the train station before today. There had to be something to do, some bar to get drunk in. 

He followed the narrow cobbled streets, letting his feet take him where they may. West City was built in the haphazard way of cities that had existed long before there were automobiles to take into account. Moving along ally after twisting ally, the foot traffic decreased as he entered a more residential area. Eventually, the shadows of the buildings and houses jutting out of the hills lengthened, and with a sigh, he finally conceded that he should start to head back to the hotel, provided he could even find his way back there at all. He still had not lost hope that he would find some place to get drunk. 

Later he could not have said what tipped him off. Perhaps it was three plus years of being on the road; a product of some painfully earned wariness that had yet to leave him. Either way, he stopped dead, his entire body simmering with tension. 

Ed spun around as a man slid up behind him. 

He dropped his suitcase and managed to place a hand between his face and the chemically scented cloth in his attacker’s hand. They silently grappled, and then Ed rammed his knee into his attacker’s groin. The man grunted, dropping his fists. Ed took the opportunity to gain some distance, back up a few feet, and slide into a defensive stance. 

This wasn’t good. His attacker quickly recovered, more cautious now than before. He was heavy, obviously well-muscled, and dressed all in black. Edward’s retaliation seemingly did not faze him at all, and that spoke to the attacker’s professionalism. Ed no longer had his alchemy up his sleeve. He didn’t have so much as a knife, which in hindsight was really fucking stupid. If he survived this in one piece, he vowed he would never be caught so defenseless again. 

The situation grew only grimmer as Ed felt more than saw at least two presences closing in on him from behind. In a second, he would be surrounded and trapped. He couldn’t let that happen. He had no idea why they were after him, and at the moment it didn’t matter. His heart thudded in anticipation. He wasn’t going to make it fucking easy for them. 

They were on some nameless, narrow hillside street. On either side, old half-timbered houses crowded against each other. Not exactly the best place to get in a fight. 

“What the hell are you people after?” 

None of his ambushers bothered to answer. 

He didn’t waste another second. With a feral cry, Ed launched himself at the first attacker. The man was ready for him, but at the last second Ed darted around, twisting past the heavier man. The man in black was not faster or cleverer than Teacher. 

Ed didn’t stop. Even he knew when it was better not to fight, and so he ran full force at the house behind the attacker. He had noticed earlier the thick ivy growing up the side. 

He grabbed at the vine, using his momentum to give him the lift up he needed. It tore of course, unable to hold his weight, but by then he had his foot on the lowest timber. It was not the most secure foothold, but Ed was athletic enough to make it work. He scrambled up the side of the house. 

His hope was that his smaller weight and relatively good dexterity would allow him to go where his ambushers could not follow. He didn’t dare look behind him until he managed to clamber onto the roof itself. A loose shingle clattered to the ground, and he heard a curse. 

“Fucking monkey.” 

Ed didn’t bother waiting to find out how well his pursuers could climb. He raced across the shingled roof, taking a flying leap from one to the next, until he was several houses away. Dropping on the other side of the house from his attackers, he tore through someone’s bushes and ran down the new street until he came to dead end. At the end of the alleyway, there was a seedy looking bar with several piles of trash and a couple of motorcycles out front. Raucous music pounded from inside. It was almost funny how close he had been to his drink. 

Could he make it back out the alleyway and away from his pursuers? Would he be safe in the bar? He wasn’t sure. The way they moved reminded him of the Amestrian military. And if it was truly some rogue part of the military that was on his ass, then he would just be putting everyone inside the bar in danger if he tried to seek shelter there. No, he was better off dealing with this on his own. 

He needed a weapon. 

Casting his glance around with a loud swear, he made some quick decisions, the kinds he was infamous for. Ed strode forward quickly, reached into a pile of trash, and then used his stronger hand to tear a strip from his own shirt. The former alchemist crouched behind one of the motorcycles. 

He needed to do this fast, since any second now he could be accosted again. 

He finished just in time. As he stood up, he saw that the three men had gained two more accomplices and they were all closing in on him from the mouth of the alleyway. With a savage grimace, Ed reached into his pocket. He withdrew a gleaming silver lighter. The lighter had been a gift from Mustang years ago, right after he’d quit the military. He wasn’t sure why he bothered to hang on to it all these years, but he sure was fucking glad in that moment. 

“Eat shit, you bastards!” he cried out, raising the lit wick above his head. Unfortunately, Ed was right handed, and that hand was not quite what it had been in his youth. As he tossed the flaming bottle, it sailed harmlessly past his target and the closest attacker. He had just enough time to mutter, “Oh shit,” before the explosive hit the ground. It refused to shatter like he had expected, instead rolling down into a sewer drain and disappearing into the abyss below. 

That was when all hell broke loose. He turned to flee again, only to be blown off of his feet from the sudden and huge shockwave. Tumbling down the street, Ed groaned as his vision swam, his ears ringing painfully. He tried to clamber to his feet, but he ended up splayed on his side with his left leg bent at a strange angle. _Just had to be the real one_ , he mused vaguely. 

“Oh God!” Ed heard screams and the sound of people running up and down the street. Voices called out, “I think it’s the sewer line!” and “Watch it, it could blow again!” 

Well, his plan had had some good consequences. With this much commotion, his attackers would be forced to back off. His head was still muzzy when he felt someone pick him up, cradling him in their arms. _They’re taking me to the hospital_ , he thought. 

It was only later, when he woke up in a darkened cell, his wounds sloppily bandaged, that he realized the truth. It hadn’t been a good Samaritan that had helped him, but his unknown attackers. 

***  
**The Flame Alchemist**  
***  
(Three Days Later) 

Roy Mustang frowned at the label of the report that had just been dropped in his lap. “Lieutenant!” 

“Sir?” Lieutenant Hawkeye’s voice echoed from the direction of the filing cabinet. 

“Why do I have a damage report from West City?” the Brigadier General demanded forcefully. “Not that West City isn’t a lovely place, but you do remember I have jurisdiction over Eastern Command, not Western, correct?” 

Truth be told, Roy was feeling rather put out this morning. It was one of those mornings where it felt like it would almost be better to call it quits rather than face another thing blowing up in his face. In the case of the two Ishvalan police skirmishes he had been called to this morning, that was a bit too literal. Even worse, the coffee pot had broken yesterday, and Roy had yet to receive the okay on his expenditure request to acquire a new one. If even the second highest person in Eastern Command couldn’t buy a damn coffee pot without filing two forms and a holding a meeting, then the entire system might as well implode. 

To top the week off, Scar had decided last Monday that now was a great time for a vacation. Oh, he hadn’t called it that. No, Scar was ‘soul searching’ or some bullshit, but if Mustang had told Hawkeye that he needed an indefinite vacation for some damn soul searching she’d have his balls on a platter before he could so much as wince. 

Mustang felt like he had been reduced to being the brunt of everyone’s anger, from the Ishvalans, to the military heads above him, to the average citizens in the East, none of whom wanted to cooperate with the Ishvalan reparations and reintegration program. Never in his life had he felt so strangled, never so at a loss for his dream of climbing the ranks and truly changing this country. And that was including those months before the Promised Day where he had constantly worried if he would go the way of Hughes when he was least expecting it. 

His lieutenant walked past him. She gave him a look that said the lack of coffee had addled his brains and sighed heavily. “Reading past the cover sheet might help, sir.” Roy glared at her, but it had no heat. 

With a groan that was probably louder than strictly necessary, he began to read. 

***  
(Twenty Minutes Later) 

“What do you mean, Fullmetal is gone?! Why the hell didn’t I know about this?” Mustang was fuming, which surprisingly, was not a state he found himself in very often. 

“Well, it was a surprise,” Lieutenant Breda started, but the Brigadier General interrupted. 

“Lieutenant Breda, I swear—.” 

Hawkeye’s vice cut across them all. “For the love of God, Falman, please go get coffee. The shop on the corner of first and fifth should be open. I expect it here _five minutes ago.”_ She turned to glare at Mustang as Falman scampered off, clearly relieved to be out of the line of fire. 

Breda continued, looking a bit paler than usual, “A surprise _for_ Edward, not about him. Alphonse didn’t want anyone else to know. Edward was in Creta, so we sent him orders calling him back, but he disappeared in West City right after several explosions.” 

Roy mental swore to himself. Only Ed could fuck up a simple summons. “So wait, go back, Lieutenant” he started. “What was the surprise from Alphonse?” 

“That’s the least of our problems right now, sir,” Breda replied, looking a touch guilty. 

“Yes, the bigger issue is how an order went out without me signing it. I do read those, you know—mostly.” Roy glared as Breda gulped. 

“Um, Al wants to propose marriage.” 

“Why,” asked Roy, “Would Alphonse propose to Edward? You are aware they’re brothers?” 

“Are you serious, sir?” 

“No.” He’d mostly said it out of a habit of obfuscation, a distraction to buy himself some time. Roy ran his fingers through his hair, glad the Lieutenant had sent for coffee. “Let me think. So the Fullmetal is in Creta, doing God knows what. And Alphonse wants to tell him in person about his marriage proposal, so we get in the middle, a place we have no business being by the way, and you all send a fake summons to Edward, who isn’t even on active duty. He decides to follow orders for once in his sorry life, and somewhere along the way—.” 

“West City,” Breda provided helpfully. 

“Right, in West City, someone, we don’t know who, blows up a sewer line. And then for the next three days Fullmetal doesn’t phone in his usual check-in with his girlfriend—.” 

“Winry, sir.” 

“I know her name. She doesn’t hear from him, so she calls around to some friends in the area and finds out that someone matching his description was seen near the area right before the explosions. That about sum it up?” 

Breda frowned thoughtfully, replying “Yes, sir.” 

“Fucking hell.” 

A minute later the aroma of fresh coffee announced the return of Falman. His mouth watering despite himself, Roy declared, "Thank God,” and then he called, "Havoc!" 

“Sir,” Havoc saluted. 

"Ed checks in with you too. Did he sound in anyway unusual during his last phone call?" Roy took a long sip of his coffee as Havoc answered. 

"No, sir. He complained about the necessity of checking in, said he wasn't a fucking child, his words not mine, yada yada, same old same old." Havoc frowned and then added, "But sir, I don't think he would go without calling Winry, not on purpose anyway. Last time she ripped him a new one so bad he had a black eye for a week. He promised." 

"Hmn," Roy answered, "Okay, Falman." 

"Yes, sir." 

"This coffee is terrible." 

"I apologize, sir." 

Roy waved his hand, "Never mind, get in touch with the chief of police in West. File a missing person’s report. For all we know he's been missing for over three days now." He turned to face his Lieutenant. "Hawkeye, you have contacts in West City, right?" 

"I can ask Lieutenant Chrischa, and Sergeant Winchester, sir." 

"Do it," he ordered. 

Roy was trying put on a mask of ease for his men, but he was truly worried. It was one thing for Edward to go missing back when he was a State Alchemist. 

Back then, Ed had gotten himself into major trouble on a regular basis, and Roy had always trusted him to take care of himself. But now he was defenseless in the worst way. Edward had grown up depending on his alchemy to protect him. Did he even know any survival techniques that did not involve a blue spark of light? 

In addition, there had been troubling reports out of West City recently. Corruption in the City Council. Protests in the street. Rampant anti-militarism. It was just like Ed to get himself mixed up in something political. 

The report said that though there had been several explosions, not much property damage had been reported, and all the rubble was already sifted through. That meant he was not lying trapped somewhere under debris. Something else had happened, and Mustang would get to the bottom of it, even if he had to make some additions to the damage report. 

He suddenly called out, "Lieutenant, get me an excuse to visit West City. I hear the weather's great this time of year." 

She replied softly, "Yes, sir. I hear it is." 

*** 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I still have a couple of chapters left to update in my other fic. I know I should have finished the other one first before posting this, but this plot bunny has been driving me nuts and I just couldn't help myself. My other fic is very emotion and drama intensive, and I just needed a break from that. *shrugs* Also I started this fic years ago on another site, so for the three people that read that, this is not plagarism, I promise. This is a plot bunny I've had for a long, long time, and re-watching FMA has brought it back to life. 
> 
> **Updates will probably be slow at first as my focus is split between this and finishing up my other fic.
> 
> ***Comments and Kudos feed my black soul.


	2. In which a prison break is attempted.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ed mouths off, and Roy attempts a rescue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is an OFC POV in the first few chapters. However, this is more a plot device than anything. This is a Roy/Ed story and not about any original character. 
> 
> *Warning for violence and explicit language.

*Chapter 2* 

*** 

**The Secretary** 

*** 

Nearly a month passed, during which Katrin heard very little about Bertram’s plan for the alchemists of Amestris. As promised, she researched all she could about Edward Elric and his involvement in the Promised Day incident. Frustratingly, there wasn’t much to find, especially without a military clearance. 

He had supposedly been instrumental in uncovering the upper brass’s plot, and he’d also been instrumental in the fight on the Promised Day. Beyond that, there really wasn’t much to learn. The Fullmetal Alchemist quit his position soon after the Promised Day in order to focus on caring for his sick brother. What exactly Alphonse Elric had been sick with wasn’t clear from the record. And then the Fullmetal disappeared to Creta while his brother went to Shing. It was all rather pointless information, but Katrin had not gotten her position by giving up. No, she made several covert overtures to contacts in the East and in Creta, and she waited patiently. 

Then she got her big break. Edward Elric was coming back to Amestris. He would have to travel through West City to do so. When she told Bertram, the man smiled warmly at her, his pride evident. 

“Thank you, Katrin,” he said, and it was all worth it. 

Several days later, Katrin heard on the radio about the massive sewer explosion near the main train station, but she paid it no real mind. After all, that was a job for the police not the city councilor. But then, when she arrived at the office, Bertram was nearly vibrating with badly concealed excitement. She watched him warily as he worked through his daily tasks, his performance far sloppier than usual. Finally, at five ‘o’clock he motioned to her. “Come with me.” 

She drove them to the prison, and then followed him through winding, dank hallways until they came to Schmidt’s cell. However, instead of speaking to the alchemist, they loosened the man’s shackles and then led him several doors down to another alchemists’ cell. 

“You’re getting what you want, Schmidt. Now, I expect you to provide me what I want,” warned Bertram as they stopped in front of the new door. The alchemist didn’t answer him, choosing instead to wait patiently for Bertram to open the door. And so he did. 

The Fullmetal Alchemist was smaller than Katrin expected. He hung limply, cuffed to the wall. She had heard he was short. But short was different than _small_ , and he was small in the way children are small. His long blond hair hung in a matted and bloody mess. A yellowed bandage wrapped sloppily around his temple. Someone had taken his pants, leaving him in a thin shirt and shorts combination, his silver automail leg exposed. 

The worst injury however, was to his right leg, his real one. Through a thin wooden splint, it was quite clear that the Fullmetal’s leg was severely broken. The swelling and bruises were massive even in the dim lighting. 

What had they done? The thought whispered in the back of Katrin’s mind. Since when were they been in the business of mutilating and torturing people? 

“Damaged him a bit during the retrieval process, did we?” Schmidt asked wryly. 

“He blew up a sewer line,” was Bertram’s terse reply. Katrin tried to align that knowledge with the vulnerability before her. It was difficult. 

Bertram and Schmidt both knelt in front of the boy. Bertram’s hard and unforgiving expression was a juxtaposition to Schmidt’s open and curious one. Katrin kept herself to the side where she had a good view of all three of them. 

The Fullmetal Alchemist had not stirred as they entered the cell. His bangs blanketed his face, obscuring his eyes. 

“So Fullmetal, we meet at last,” whispered Schmidt. He trembled and reached out his hand to the blond alchemist’s face. 

Katrin saw it in slow motion, how the blond boy tensed almost imperceptibly just as Schmidt made contact. She started to rush forward, but the boy leaped up with his weight on his automail lag, straining the length of his cuffs. He snarled a terrible animal cry and latched himself onto Schmidt’s hand with the only weapon he had available, his teeth. 

He let his weight pull them down, Schmidt falling with a screech, and then he rocked onto his back to free up his leg. He viciously gripped Schmidt’s hand in his teeth, even as the alchemist desperately pulled. With Schmidt trapped on top of him, he kicked his mechanical leg repeatedly and forcefully into the alchemist. All of this happened within the span of a few seconds. 

Bertram was the one who stopped it, as Katrin could only stare. He leaned over the grappling alchemists and, with a full swing, backhanded the Fullmetal across the cheek. Fullmetal dropped his victim with a pained “oomph.” Schmidt scrambled out of the boy’s reach as the Fullmetal spat out a mouthful of blood. 

Katrin wondered how she could have just a few seconds ago thought of this person as small or childish. Now that he was awake, she could see the fearless rage simmering in his eyes. He was as rabid as a cornered jackal. What she had mistaken as youth was actually a very compact body, tense with corded muscles. 

She watched as he balanced himself back on his automail heel, glaring at Bertram with malice. “You dirty, god damned, whoring son of a bitch,” Elric snarled, eyes locked on his tormentor. As far as insults went, it wasn’t the most original, but he made up for that with impressive volume and enthusiasm. “You think you’re gonna get away with this? You picked the wrong guy to mess with. When Mustang finds out—,” 

‘Mustang, Hmn?” Bertram did not raise his voice over Fullmetal’s shouting. He did not have to. Fullmetal let himself be cut off. Wary, watchful intelligence and blind fury fought for control over the boy’s expressive features. It was fascinating to watch. 

Bertram cocked his head, his own cold expression never falling from his face. “I’ve also wanted to meet you for a long time, Edward Elric,” he said mildly. There was slight pause as he crossed his fingers together in front of himself and seemed to consider his words. “Youngest person to ever join the military. Your entrance to the state alchemy program was sponsored by General Mustang, was it not? And then you worked directly under him, cultivating support from the common people, right up until his coup de’tat.” 

Fullmetal scowled, but he didn’t speak. 

Bertram’s expression remained cool and unruffled; nevertheless, there was something lurking underneath the veneer, something ugly that Katrin had never seen before. He didn’t see Fullmetal as a boy, she realized, but rather as an extension of the man he hated, the Flame Alchemist. 

“Tell me Edward Elric, what could a man like that have to offer a twelve-year-old?” 

Elric didn’t answer. 

“I’d believe you, you know, if you admitted he manipulated you. In fact, I’m almost certain of it either way. That’s what men like him do.” Bertram smiled sympathetically. Even Katrin didn’t believe that look. “You had your innocence stolen at such a young age.” 

Elric didn’t answer that either, but he snorted under his breath as if Bertram’s words were vaguely amusing. 

“But Mustang went too far. You know in your heart that he has to be stopped. The Promised Day incident, the coup’de’tat; his ambitions nearly killed 50 million people.” Bertram’s voice rose. “You might not have had a choice as a child, but you do now.” 

Elric’s tone was flat. “And if I do buy what you’re selling? What then?” He added sarcastically, “This dungeon treatment isn’t exactly making me amenable to your cause.” 

“Help Major Schmidt facilitate his research, and I will let you go.” Bertram replied. “Not only that, but I’ll place you under my personal protection. Mustang will never be able to get to you again.” 

There was no way Bertram actually believed the Fullmetal was going to go for that, Katrin thought. Just a few minutes ago the boy had been literally fighting them tooth and nail. Just a few minutes ago Bertram had backhanded him across the face. He’d worked for Mustang directly for three years, and indirectly for the next three. He would never turn on Flame that easily, not for a stranger, and not while sitting here in this cell. But then again, alchemists were unpredictable, even ones as young as this one. They were all about ambition and self-preservation. 

The Fullmetal looked at Bertram dubiously. He eyed Schmidt, who busied himself dusting off his clothes and rubbing his injured hand. A chunk of flesh hung from the skin between his thumb and forefinger. “There’s only one thing I have expertise in that someone would be willing to kidnap me over,” Fullmetal said finally. His voice was hard and fierce. “And I’ll die before I give someone else that knowledge. Go to Hell.” With that he collapsed back against the wall and let his head turn away from them. 

Katrin watched Bertram carefully, wondering how he was going to handle this not wholly unexpected turn. Before, she would never have worried about how far he was willing to take things. But this whole process was quickly changing her perception on that. Unsurprisingly, Bertram did not look all too dismayed at Edward’s refusal. He sighed and turned to Schmidt. “What exactly did you need from him?” 

“Perhaps a muzzle,” replied Schmidt with a wave of his damaged hand. At Bertram’s unamused look, he added, “I want to run a few experiments to see how his body reacts to various transmutations. His cooperation would be preferred, but I don’t need it.” 

“We won’t be able to keep him here for long. Even retired, he still belongs to Mustang. Make it quick.” 

Schmidt did not answer, but his eyes on the Fullmetal were greedy. 

*** 

*Four days later* 

**The Flame Alchemist** 

*** 

West City, thought Mustang, was built by a madman. Street after winding street, each one narrower than the last. Names that changed seemingly at random and cobble stones which ended abruptly in dark alleyways for no apparent reason. 

Four days ago, he and Hawkeye had made their excuses to take a vacation at the same time and then bought train tickets under assumed names. Once in West City, he sent her out to do most of the initial investigating, as she was far less recognizable than him. Competent as ever, she got ahold of the original police report through a friend. No mention of Fullmetal had been made on the police report, but the newspaper article from the day of the explosion did mention a blonde youth seen near the incident. And of course, Winry had heard from a friend of a friend who knew someone who had seen a blonde boy matching Ed’s description near the explosion. 

After two days in the city and not many leads, Mustang and Hawkeye went to the scene of the explosion together and began to ask around, starting at the seedy bar closest to the hole in the sewer line. Even in the early afternoon it seemed rather crowded and busy. Once inside, Mustang pulled out an official looking insurance badge that he had alchemied together earlier inside the hotel room. 

He spoke to the bartender first. “We’re investigating the potential causes of the sewer explosion for the city insurance program. I’ve been told that the bulk of the explosion began here? Were you working that day?” 

The bartender nodded, but his face remained unfriendly. “Aye, I work every day. 12-10. Didn’t see nothing.” 

Mustang’s voice remained bland. “Are you sure about that?” 

The bartender nodded again, but then another man at the bar leaned over, sloshing his drink dangerously. Though it was barely two in the afternoon, his face was beet red and his voice slurred warmly. “Don’t need no fucking investigation. I tell you, it was that kid. And he owes me a new bike. Put that on your fucking report. I told them, I did. Over and over, but are they out there looking for that fuck? No!” 

“Excuse me?” asked Hawkeye. She gave him her full attention, her eyes glinting dangerously. 

The drunk man swallowed and leaned back away from her. He seemed suddenly unsure. “I mean, the blonde kid, fucked up m’bike. That’s all.” 

Hiding his eagerness at the mention of a blonde ‘kid,’ Roy asked, “What exactly did this blonde kid do?” 

“Cut the gas line, he did.” 

Mustang made a show of writing in a notepad. “Why would he do that?” 

“Don’t know. Dinna get a good look at ‘em before he blew up the street, dinn’I?” It took Roy a good moment to decipher that sentence back into legible Amestrian. 

The bartender was quietly polishing a yellowed glass, not hiding his interest. When he caught Roy’s gaze again, he said brusquely, “We don’t want no trouble here. Ain’t nobody saw nothing, so you best be on your way.” 

Roy ignored him. “Who else did you tell this to?” he asked. 

The drunk man didn’t seem to notice the bartender’s apprehension. “City police, I did. Ain’t ya’ll got a file or something? I made a statement. Not that they listened to me.” 

Mustang and Hawkeye exchanged glances. Even if it wasn’t in the public report, it should have been somewhere in the internal one, that a blonde youth had been seen tampering with vehicles right before the explosion. After all, it had taken barely any questioning inside of this bar for Roy and Riza to hear about it. So why wasn’t it the report? 

“Can you describe this blonde? Was there anyone else with him?” 

The man scratched his beard. “Short. Had a ponytail to his shoulders. Didn’t see no one with ‘em, but he looked like he was waiting for someone if ya’ know what I mean. But what about my fucking bike? Who’s gonna reimburse me for m’bike, huh?” 

Roy dutifully took the man’s information down and promised to be in touch. Meanehile, the bartender continued to glare at them until they finally left the bar. 

Outside the bar, as they walked back to the hotel, Roy spoke to Riza without looking at her, “If I were a city police official and I wanted to kidnap someone hush, hush, where would I keep them?” 

Of course, they had no guarantee that Edward had been kidnapped at all, but the alternative was unthinkable. Hawkeye had already checked the morgue without him needing to tell her to do so. She didn’t report anything to him when she came back, and he took that to mean there was nothing worth reporting. 

“Hmn. It depends on if this person believes Ed still has his alchemy or not. It would take a lot more resources to contain an alchemist than an ordinary person.” 

“True.” 

They walked past the train station and the main square next to it. Tourists stood in groups and little old ladies sat outside fancy cafes, sipping cool drinks. Children shrieked by the water fountain. 

Another block and the scene changed considerably. Here was another square, but far seedier and far more crowded. A man stood on a wooden platform and shouted into a megaphone. The people listening to him looked far more local than the milling tourists of the previous square. There was a thrumming tension to this crowd, an undertone of violence that crawled up the back of Mustang’s neck. He fingered the gloves stuffed in his pocket, the slick texture bringing him comfort like nothing else could. Hawkeye moved back so that she walked just behind his shoulder, and they both stopped at the edge of the crowd to listen. 

The man speaking looked like he was in his early twenties. He was handsome, the piercing blue of his eyes reaching Mustang even from the back of the crowd. Though he shouted, he didn’t _sound_ like he was shouting, the ebb and flow of his voice rolling like a preacher. “They called it the Promised Day, these people running our country. Our entire country, our children, our families, dying and choking. Thrown away as ingredients, as little better than trash. That’s what our dear leaders see us as!” His voice was powerful with his conviction, demanding attention. Even Roy felt himself being drawn into the flow of the handsome man’s speech. 

“Well fellow citizens, I have a promise of my own to make.” The speaker paused and there were several shouts of support scattered throughout the crowd. With a tight smile, he continued, “A promise I made the first time I saw my little daughter, tiny and perfect at her mother’s breast. When my younger brother could barely sleep because of the nightmares about that day.” He waited for the jeers and shouts to die down again. “I promise!” the speaker bellowed thunderously, “That my children will grow up in a country that’s free of the evils that let men commit such atrocities. My children will not die on a god forsaken battlefield fighting for a lie. They won’t come home, broken in spirit and body from wars started to line the pockets of rich men.” 

Now there was a rising tide of murmurs and hollers. A man in front of Roy stomped his feet and shouted, “Here, Here!” From somewhere else someone yelled, ‘Fuck the alchemists!” 

Hawkeye reached and tugged on Roy’s sleeve. As he turned back to her, she whispered, “We should leave.” 

Roy knew she was right. He was too recognizable as one of those alchemists they were shouting about, and the mood of this crowd was quickly darkening. Still, the thought of retreat grated on him as they worked their way back through the crowd and to their hotel. 

That crowd had been sizable and accepting of the man’s rhetoric in a way that said this was not the first time most of them had heard these words. Why didn’t the administration in Central know about the mood here in West City? Why weren’t they doing anything to quell the growing tensions in the city? And just who was stirring this up? 

Not the military administration, surely. Was it the city council? Here in the West, the local politicians had far more power than those in the East where war had been so recent and devastating. There had been demonstrations in West City during the Bradley administration. The city had gone nearly a hundred years without seeing war at home, and it resented sending its young men off to fight battles it believed had nothing to do with it. 

Roy thought about Edward’s penchant for getting himself mixed up in volatile situations. Had he discovered some underbelly of corruption or revolution and been eliminated for it? 

Another possibility hit Roy suddenly as he remembered the pure rage of the crowd. Edward was extremely recognizable to anyone who knew what he looked like. Had he been recognized as someone connected to the Promised Day incident? Just because Roy and his men knew that Ed was a major reason the entire country wasn’t inside of a philosopher stone right now, didn’t mean that anyone else did or believed it. Especially if there was already such a low regard for the military and its dogs. 

_Just what the hell was going on in West City?_

*** 

**Edward Elric** 

*** 

Edward Elric had been in worse situations before. He was sure of it. Though, right now he was having a hard time coming up with any specific memories. 

His leg was probably the worst part of his predicament. The real one ached with an intensity that would have been frightening to someone not accustomed to the pain of automail limbs. His femur poked visibly through the skin, a sharp, bloody lump. Ed had seen other people with similar injuries before. Bone breaks like that had be set quickly and correctly to have any chance of recovery. And Edward had been sitting here in this cell for nearly a week. Not only was the break not set, but his leg was starting to smell. 

_Infection._ Killer of soldiers and otherwise healthy people everywhere. 

A prison doctor had been by to look at the wound several times already. The fact that they’d sent someone at all suggested maybe they weren’t planning on killing him as soon as they were done. However, the fact that he had so lackadaisically bandaged Ed’s leg also suggested that they didn’t care all that much whether he survived this ordeal or not. Edward wasn’t sure which version he preferred. 

Once a day for the past four days, his three captors had come to visit him. There was the tall, balding man they referred to as Bertram. He was clearly in charge, and he also clearly hated Edward with a passion that defied reason. Then there was the woman, Ms. Colman, just some lackey but annoyingly earnest. And finally, there was the alchemist, Schmidt. _The Binding Alchemist._ Edward had never heard of him before last week, and he had heard about nearly every state alchemist that had ever existed. 

The latch to his cell door suddenly began to lift as he shifted in vain, trying to find a more comfortable way to keep the weight off of his broken leg. His stump, even set in the automail, had never been intended to support his weight alone for this long, and it was starting to complain nearly as dearly as the broken one. 

So, time for his daily torment. Ed tensed up and braced himself on his automail leg more firmly, ignoring the shriek of accompanying pain. The un-oiled joints protested, but they held. 

“Good afternoon, Mr. Elric,” Bertram greeted him coolly. Ed didn’t bother to answer. After four days of little food and water and the increasingly severe state of his leg, he was beginning to feel light headed and weak. Even as his vision swam, he mentally swore at himself. Now was not the time to give in or drop his guard. He was stronger than that. 

Schmidt also remained silent, bending down instead to draw an alchemy circle on the ground. Ed recognized it as a simple transmutation circle for shaping organic matter. Bertram watched this with unconcealed apprehension, stopping the alchemist before he was finished and demanding to have the transmutation circle explained to him. 

“Would you like to explain, Fullmetal?” Schmidt spoke in a low, smooth voice. Edward gave him his most dower look in response. 

“No? Alright then.” 

As the man spoke, Edward decided that Schmidt must have been a teacher at some point. He had a way of breaking concepts down and a love of explaining that showed through as he told Bertram the basics of the simple transmutation in far more detail and with far more patience than such a task required. 

“The circle for power and containment,” he summarized at the end of his explanation. “The lines for direction and purpose. A good and intuitive alchemist can reduce the amount of direction he needs to complete his transmutation, but no alchemist can forgo the circle. Without a circle, you might as well be a child playing in the dirt.” Schmidt turned back to Edward. “Wouldn’t you agree with everything I said, Fullmetal?” 

Ed still refused to answer. 

With an indulgent sigh, Schmidt requested, “Will you bring him to the circle please?” 

The first few times this had happened, Ed had fought like a feral animal, putting up as much of a struggle as possible within his chains. However, all he managed to do was strain and bruise his bum leg and exhaust himself, and in the end, he had still been coerced into compliance. Now he didn’t fight, but he let himself hang like a deadweight, forcing them to drag him along. It took all three of his captors to get him positioned at the edge of the circle. 

Schmidt commanded, “Touch the circle please, Fullmetal.” 

Ed did not so much as glance at him. Schmidt sighed, and then both he and Bertram bent down, forcing Edward’s hands onto the circle. Of course nothing happened. Edward could have told them it would be so, just like all the other times they had tried this over the past few days. Frankly it was starting to get a bit old. 

Bertram must have agreed because he said, “What exactly are you learning with this Schmidt? I’m starting to think you’re just wasting all of our time.” 

Schmidt seemed lost in thought. His piercing eyes were locked onto the spot where Ed’s hands touched the circle. Bertram seemed to sense a change in the air because he backed away, leaving only Ed and Schmidt by the lines of chalk. Ed might not be able to back away, but he did remove his hands and lean back as far as possible. Muttering under his breath, Schmidt bent down next to Edward and touched the circle himself. 

With a crackle, energy began to rise from the lines, bright blue lines of power. Rather than completing the transmutation, the alchemist jerked his hands and abruptly backed away from the circle, leaving the humming energy hanging without direction. 

Ed gaped at him for one, long second, then he shouted, “Are you fucking insane?! It’s gonna rebound!” Instinct more than anything had him pressing his hands against the circle in a vain attempt to do what he no longer had the ability to do. Just like every other time he had tried this over the past three years, no flash of insight accompanied the efficient calculations of energy conversions that he had always been able to do on the fly. The train of thought just stopped somewhere before completion. The string of understanding, deconstruction, and reconstruction simply did not form itself. 

Because Ed was the one touching the circle, even though Schmidt had begun the transmutation, Edward was the one who suffered the rebound. Though transmutation was relatively small, it still stung and burned somewhat like an electrical shock. The energy jarred up his arms and made his heart stutter for several terrifying beats. He fell over and convulsed, struggling and failing to take a full breath. 

Then it was over. Edward lay on his side, gasping for air. When he could open his eyes, he roved his gaze over himself, looking to see that he had all of his remaining limbs despite the knowledge that the transmutation had not been strong enough to do anything that terrible. His hands were bright red and raw looking, but that seemed to be the worst of it. He rolled over to see Schmidt standing over him, clearly trying to determine how bad the rebound had been. 

Schmidt’s eyes widened as he was caught in Ed’s murderous gaze, then Edward was grabbing at the man’s legs, trying to topple him over. He succeeded, and then fought the length of his chains to climb over the top of the alchemist. His leg screamed at him, a black, gaping pain that threatened to drag him into unconsciousness. But he ignored it, hissing, and then was finally on top of the bastard. 

Edward leaned back with relish, cocking his left fist back with as much force as his weakened body could muster. He let a hearty punch fly at the man’s face. It met Schmidt’s nose with the most satisfying crunch Edward had ever heard, and then it was over. Bertram quickly dragged him back off the alchemist, grabbing Edward’s bad leg and squeezing it. Ed let out a helpless screeching cry, blacking out for a few seconds. When he came back to, he was once again shackled to the wall far out of reach of the other three. He sat there panting, watching as Bertram pulled Schmidt back up to his feet. 

It was probably stupid to keep fighting like this. It wasn’t like he had gained much by that action except the potential anger of the Binding Alchemist. But there was something to be said for how much that punch had recovered Ed’s morale. That had its own worth in his humble opinion. He gave them his most terrible grin. The secretary flinched back, but Bertram and Schmidt were too busy with themselves to notice. Ed spat at her for good measure. 

Bertram’s voice was dry as he regarded the Binding Alchemist. “What exactly did you gain by that, if I may ask?” 

Schmidt took a few heaving breaths as he wiped his nosebleed on the back of his sleeve. When he answered, the silkiness of his voice was broken. “We could not be sure if he was truly trying and failing to transmute or if he was simply not cooperating. However, I think we can be sure now. Even this stubborn thing would not have willingly let a transmutation rebound on himself. It’s too good of a way to lose another limb.” 

He wiped his nose again and spat out a glob of pink spittle. “What does the other side look like, Edward Elric? What did you gain in exchange for your alchemy?” At Ed’s carefully blank look, he added, “You said to your comrades on the Promised Day, ‘please enjoy my last transmutation,’ and then you drew a human transmutation circle, disappeared from the world, and returned with your brother. What did you _see_ , Edward Elric?” 

Ed’s leg was literally fucking killing him. He looked Schmidt deeply in the eye, turned his head, and spat at the man’s feet. “Fuck you.” 

*** 

**The Flame Alchemist** 

*** 

“Are you sure?” Roy asked. He stood inside a payphone booth, his lieutenant right behind him, watching his back. “Right,” he said, turning to look at Riza. “Thank you, Drake. I really owe you one.” Another pause to listen and then, “Yeah. Yeah.” 

He hung up the phone. 

"What did you get from Drake?" Hawkeye’s voice was all business, sharp and clear. 

"There's been interesting movement inside and out the West City Prison. A shipment of anti-alchemy manacles, ordered personally by the City Councilor, guy called Bertram. Plus, the good Councilor has been putting an awful lot of time in the basement according to the staff sergeant, who's a friend. The staff sergeant’s suspicious." 

Riza bit her lip thoughtfully. "If your staff sergeant is Wilson, he's suspicious of everyone, but you're right. It doesn't add up." 

"Plus," continued Roy, "Wilson thinks there is something going on with the newer staff. He doesn't trust them. The alchemy manacles are one thing, but there's all kinds of stuff moving in and out of the prison. So really, I think it adds up a bit too well." He snorted but it lacked real mirth. 

Riza didn’t ask the question, but she met his eyes and waited. 

Roy sighed. “It’ll be difficult. Just the two of us.” 

“Yes,” she agreed steadily. 

Shaking his head, Roy said, “Well. Let’s go.” 

*** 

"Okay, our objective is to make it to the alchemy wing, see just what the hell Bertram has been doing down there, find Fullmetal, and rescue him, all without being recognized as military." Roy commanded with his best inspirational voice. Of course, since it was just him and Hawkeye, it was a bit wasted, but still, it was helpful to get in the mood. 

"Right sir," Hawkeye replied. 

They were standing at the northernmost corner of the prison wall. According to Hawkeye's best calculation, this corner had been built out when the basement was expanded, and was therefore the easiest access for what they were attempting. It was dusk, not quite pitch black, so that hopefully any light from alchemy would be less noticeable. She had staked out the guard rounds earlier, and they had a seven-minute window before a guard would be within sight distance. 

Roy nodded at Hawkeye, and she loosened a bundled black blanket she had been holding and draped it over herself and the Brigadier General, swathing them in darkness. 

Roy closed his eyes, focusing on his breath and hands. The Elrics could do this in the blink of an eye, but this kind of alchemy had never been his thing. He stiffened and brought his hands together. As soon as they completed a circle he felt the energy come to life, crackling with blue light. He deepened his focus, picturing the array he wanted, one he had looked up earlier today, and gently fed the energy down the imagined lines, picturing every last particle of the wall break apart like wet paper. 

He deepened the transmutation, seeing the foundation the cellar area below and breaking through that too. Finally, it ended and Hawkeye clicked on her flashlight. They had a tunnel that opened into the ceiling of what looked like a small storage room. Perfect. 

"Good work, sir," she whispered. She turned around to position the blanket over the hole. It would not hold up to any scrutiny, but they were hoping the growing darkness would cover their tracks. They dropped into the storage room, setting off a cloud of dust. 

Coughing, Roy held up a hand and peered down the corridor. Motioning for Hawkeye, he crept slowly into the hallway, glad for the dim lighting. The corridor they were in was lined with various doors, all with storage labels. They opened each one just to be sure. Some were so tiny they could barely be called rooms, and other led into more hallways that were even longer than the one they were standing in. 

He was realizing quickly that this place was a lot larger and more complex than they had imagined. Just as he was about to motion to Hawkeye again, a heavy wooden door in front of them creaked. 

Roy automatically froze with panic as the door groaned and swung out, almost catching him in the face. At the last second, his mind came to a decision. They were never going to find anything in this place without help, even if it was unwitting. He pushed Hawkeye into a corridor behind them, just as a guard walked out of the door in front, smelling of smoke, whistling to himself. He turned around, catching Roy's eye. A cigarette dropped out of his mouth, and his face took on a dumbfounded expression. 

The time it took the guard to collect himself was hilarious, but eventually he scrambled for his weapon and pointed it at Roy. "St-stop right there!" 

Roy sighed and inwardly rolled his eyes. "You got me," he said as he raised his hands. 

"Who are you and how did you break you break in?" The guard demanded with a flushed face. _God, he must be stupid not to a least recognize I'm military._ Well good, Roy could use that. He stood up to his full height, turned so that he was barely looking down at the sweating guard, and lifted up one side of his mouth in a well-practiced smirk. 

"Pathetic," he spat. "Truly sad. You have to ask why I'm here; that shows a large organizational problem, and I'll definitely have to note that in my report." 

"Your report?" the guard repeated. 

"Yes, Officer, my report. As in the routine inspection I'm conducting. Unless you believe that I somehow managed to break into this facility, travel all the way down here without being seen, and then decided to wander the corridors." Roy snorted to show just how silly this was, all the while hoping that Hawkeye had abandoned him to travel further down the corridor. _No sense in both of them being caught twenty minutes into the rescue._ Roy added for good measure, "I was being escorted by Sargent Wilson, when he left to conduct business elsewhere." 

The guard frowned, obviously considering the story. Roy was just about to clap his hands together and risk crisping the guy, when he heard footsteps coming down the hallway. The footsteps were quick and purposeful, and as the newcomer turned the corner, Roy saw that it was Wilson himself, both the first and last person Roy wanted to see right now. 

"Ah, Wilson, you've finally returned I see," Roy said with a lazy drawl, all the while eyeballing Wilson, begging him to play along. 

Wilson looked from Roy to the guard and said stiffly, "Officer Warren, you're free to go. Report back to command. We have new orders." 

"Yes sir." The man saluted and turned to Roy, "Sorry about the misunderstanding, sir," and he walked briskly away. 

Wilson waited until they could no longer hear the guard's footsteps. His faced relaxed from its gruffness and he exclaimed, "Just what the hell were you thinking, Mustang? I told you that stuff to keep you away from here!" 

Hawkeye had not revealed herself once the guard left and Roy took that to mean she had left him when he had first been discovered. He snorted. _She could have at least waited and made sure he was all right._ He vaguely thought he heard a muffled noise from where Warren had gone. 

"Wilson, you know all that did was seal my decision to investigate. I thought you knew me better than that," Roy responded, trying to figure out his next move. Should he go look for Hawkeye or stay with Wilson? 

Wilson’s expression was thoughtful, but then he seemed to come to a decision. An indecipherable emotion flashed across his face, and with a jerk of his head, he said, "Well good thing you did come because I know where they're keeping Edward Elric." 

Roy felt a warning tremor go up his spine. He hadn't seen Wilson since Ishval, and people changed, but there was something off about his easy mood swing. He was too nervous, his gaze too unsteady. Wilson had always been a neurotic, negative person, so it was this strange friendliness that laced his usual bad attitude that bothered Roy. Still, Roy could not afford to let go of opportunity to be directly taken to Ed. That was the entire reason he had been seen in the first place. This place was too damn complicated to search without a map and not be caught. Therefore, even if it turned out to be some kind of trap, he would have to risk it. 

Seeing that Roy had made up his mind, Wilson started walking and continued to speak. "Elric's not that far away. They’re keeping him in the alchemy wing." Roy was only half listening to his former war buddy. Instead, he surreptitiously positioned his lighter in his palm. He no longer needed a transmutation circle, but flame alchemy still required an initial spark. "The only thing is, I can't figure out why he's here. I mean they say he blew up a sewer line, but if that were the case, they would have contacted the military and kept him with Gen Pop, not all this secret crap," Wilson said with his eyes on Roy. 

Roy sensed the danger before it presented itself visually, and he clapped his hands together, calling the circle of alchemy. Even as he felt it travel from the ground up his channels, though his arms, he felt the presence of a stranger power. It slammed against his own, flicking against his arms and through his chest. The alchemic attack paralyzed his limbs, leaving him unable to control his own called upon power and he felt his own alchemy sizzle through his body, tearing at him unable to be released, until it finally faded out, leaving him spent and still trapped by the attack. 

He couldn't move a muscle. When he tried, all he achieved was a minor jerk and spasm. His eyes filmed over and his limbs tingled. Then he passed out. 

*** 

**The Secretary** 

*** 

Katrin, Bertram, and Schmidt were once again in Elric's cell when the guard burst in. Huffing and puffing, he ground to a halt in front of Bertram and saluted. 

"I told you to wait outside," started Bertram with a thunderous voice, but he stopped when the guard leaned in to whisper in his ear. "What?!" Bertram narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips, apparently thinking hard. He seemed to come to a decision, and barked to Schmidt and Katrin, "Wait here.” With quick strides, Bertram followed the guard into the hall. 

Katrin watched him leave, feeling quite perplexed. Bertram had done nothing but think, talk, and live his plan to use Edward Elric and Major Schmidt for the last week. It would have to be something hugely important to convince him to leave in the middle of an interrogation. 

"I wonder what it was?" she murmured softly. 

"It's obvious." Turning around, she saw that Edward Elric had lifted his face and was looking at her with burning eyes. 

Schmidt just laughed. "Enlighten us then, Fullmetal." Elric's death glare seemed more habit than force. This week had worn him far more than his interrogators. Katrin could smell his leg across the room. 

"Something important enough for him to abandon his little fantasy world in here? It'd have to be huge," Elric said, reminding her of her previous train of thought. "If I had to guess, it's been what six days since I've been locked up? A couple to miss my check in, one for Mustang to get his shit together, one to travel here. Add two for him to screw around in West." He grinned maliciously. "Lady you have the military on your ass. Bout time too." 

Schmidt started wordlessly clapping, causing Elric to furiously strain against the wall, when Katrin interrupted them both. "You're wrong. Bertram is doing great things. He's going to revolutionize the military and stop the corruption of Alchemists." She looked at him, then, taking in his ragged appearance. "He told me—told me they probably made you help with the Promised Day. Don't you see? We could stop all that." Her voice fell off as she noticed the way Elric was looking at her. 

There was no more malice in his expression. She was met instead with sharp, intelligent eyes, focused on her with such intensity that she felt he could see every atom of her existence, every ounce of her being. They stood that way for several seconds although it felt like an eternity, and she let out a breath of relief when he finally lowered his gaze. 

"I'm sorry," he said, stunning her, "I truly am. But it would never work. Not with alchemy." Schmidt tensed and Katrin suddenly realized that she was alone in the cell with the two prisoners. They were both bound she reminded herself, comfortingly. "Schmidt's been leading you on," stated Elric as Schmidt snarled at him. 

"You ingrate-," Schmidt glowered moving closer to Elric threateningly. 

"Halt," Katrin commanded him. "I want to hear what he has to say." She faced Schmidt challengingly. For an instant, he looked like he would disobey. There was murder in his eyes, but he took a step back, only saying in an oily voice, "Elric is quite intelligent, but he knows nothing of the intricacies of my research. He'll say anything to get out of his cell, miss." 

"As would you," she retorted. She turned to the Fullmetal, "Continue." 

The Fullmetal’s tone was rich in self-righteousness. "Even if his theory is correct, it would take too much energy to perform on one person, let alone all the state alchemists." His eyes hardened and she wondered how she could have ever mistaken him for childish. "They would have to murder people, lady, lots of people. Either your boss man is a lot dumber than he looks, or he knows, and is planning murder on the off chance it will help him control the state alchemists." 

Schmidt's face was closed off, expressionless. She turned to face him, "Is this true, Major?" He did not speak. Instead, he seeming to contemplate something. His eyes flashed, and he grimaced, showing her all of his teeth. 

"Well, I guess the game is up." He squared his shoulders and cocked his head toward her. Edward was struggling again, shouting something but she did not hear him. She was being held captive by Schmidt's eyes. 

"As to answer your question, I think it is a bit of both. Bertram didn't truly understand my notes, and he chose to ignore what he did of the gruesome aspects. After all, stopping the evil alchemists requires some sacrifice, right Katrin?" He was moving slowly toward her and despite herself she was backing up. 

"It's Miss Colman," she squeaked. 

"Right," he drawled. "Right." He rubbed his arm, and for the first time she noticed a dark spot staining his gray uniform on his forearm. He followed her gaze and his grimace widened. 

"As to Edward's assumption," he continued, "Only partially right I'm afraid. The great Roy Mustang has in fact been in West City for the past two days. He did indeed break in through the north corner wall about forty minutes ago, but no. There will be no rescue here today." 

Katrin's brain felt like mush. An inner voice was screaming at her to move, do something, but she was frozen, watching the scene unfold as if it was a film and she was just a viewer. 

"Look at her, Edward. So confused, like a rabbit." 

"Leave her alone!" 

Schmidt was standing right in front of her now, his putrid breath in her face. She had backed up against the wall with nowhere else to go. _This is it. I'm going to die_. Their eyes were locked together as the alchemist slowly reached over her shoulder, his fingers trailing her arm. Suddenly there was a loud click, and her arm was bound in a manacle similar to Edwards. Schmidt leaned back, his eyes never leaving hers. "Thank you Katrin." She whimpered. 

"Wilson!" An older man with peppered hair and several stars on his uniform walked through the door. "Keep Bertram busy and bring me Roy Mustang," Schmidt ordered. Seeing Wilson's gaze linger on Katrin, he added, "Don't worry about the girl, I've got it covered but treat Mustang with care. He won't make any moves as long as he thinks he has more to gain by complying. Make sure he still thinks that until it's too late." Wilson was still looking at Katrin, and she had a small burst of hope that somehow he would save her, that he would betray Schmidt right now. 

The man turned away, said, "Got it," and walked out the door. A few minutes later Schmidt followed him. 

As the minutes passed in silence, tears leaked from Katrin's eyes, dripping down in her lap, but she did nothing to stop them. Major Schmidt had betrayed the Councilor, or worse, Bertram had betrayed her. Either way she was locked up in a cell with a powerless Fullmetal helplessly awaiting Schmidt's return. 

The Elric boy pointedly ignored her, choosing instead to work his manacles, pulling at them futilely. It made terrible scraping noises, noises that grated against her mind until she couldn't take it anymore. "Would you quit it!" she finally screamed shrilly. She was vaguely aware that she was taking her fear and frustration out on the helpless prisoner, but she couldn't seem to stop. "Just stop, please. It isn't helping," she added with a sob. 

Edward gave her a measured look, but slowly eased himself back down. "At least I'm doing something. Better than sitting there and crying," he retorted. He then promptly pushed himself back up and began twisting his chains again. He was rotated awkwardly, trying to reach the base of the cuff, and when he spoke again it was muffled by his shoulder. "What right do you have, anyway? You sat there day after day, listening to them, knowing what they were planning, watching them experiment with me. You've been in this cell one hour and you're breaking down." His head twisted to face her and he scowled, "It's pathetic." 

By maneuvering his weight on his bad leg, which must have been very painful, and twisting his back, he was able to reach his hands with his mouth. He then proceeded to gnaw at the cuff, attempting to grasp the screw so he could turn it loose. Katrin could only watch, awed by his determination, but feeling a bit defensive. 

"You wouldn't understand," she said quietly. 

He let go of his cuff, and turned toward her, moving off his injured leg and easing down. He faced her with glittering piercing eyes. "Then enlighten me," he mocked. 

"I've spent my entire adult life working for Councilor Bertram. I—he is a good person. He sets up community programs and recycles for god sake." She wasn't explaining it very well. She kept remembering the way he had looked in the car the day he had explained his plot. _Why didn't I question it more?_

"You really are dense," he said condescendingly. 

"Bertram isn't corrupt!" she repeated adamantly. She glared at him, suddenly breathing heavily. She was about to speak again when Edward tensed in a way that told her he had sensed someone approaching. A second later, she heard the thud of footsteps and the wooden door creaked open. 

"Boss says to truss 'em up tighter'n hog," a voice was saying. Two guards were dragging a limp figure through the door. "They got Bertram feelin' important up in command while the Major sets us up down here." 

"Yeah," the other replied. Fullmetal was sitting still, straining to see whom they were bringing in. "I wouldn't wanna be these suckers, can't be nothin' good he got planned." They slammed the figure down. The body rolled, and Ed gasped, his face aghast. "Reg'nize your buddy, do ya?" 

Katrin could finally see him too. He was a soft faced man, with ink black hair that had that perfect manicured length, resting just above his eyes. He had to have some Xingese to have hair that dark. However, he was unnaturally pale and, most disturbingly, there was blood coming out of all the orifices on his face; his mouth, nose, eyes, and ears. _What the hell could do that?_ The man was also, as the first guard had so elegantly put it, trussed up like a pig. Ropes bound his arms to his sides, wrapped around and around again, and his legs were the same. 

Ed screamed, "Don't you people understand what you're doing? You'll never get away with this!" 

" _Edward_." The voice was weak and trembling but it stopped the Fullmetal cold. 

He turned his head, "Mustang! What did they do to you? Can you breathe alright?" 

The guards looked at each other, and then one said, "Ah let 'em talk. They ain’t got that long till the Major comes back anyway." The first guard turned to walk away and the other followed saying, "Have fun boys," and then they were both gone, leaving the three prisoners in the semi darkness. 

"Fullmetal, they have the Binding Alchemist," Mustang began to say. 

Edward cut him off, "I know. I've been down here for like eight days now." There was a hint of petulance in his voice. 

Mustang continued with a weak voice, "Didn't expect to deal with a powerful alchemist. They caught me by surprise." 

"Yeah, no kidding." 

At that, Mustang tried to glare at his subordinate but it was futile. One, his face was awkwardly squashed against the ground and two, the Fullmetal had them all outclassed when it came indignant glares. 

"Edward listen," Mustang demanded, clearly attempting to stay focused, "There isn't any back-up coming. Hawkeye and I broke in on own. Last I saw, she hasn't been caught, but it's only a matter of time." 

Elric’s face lost its petulance and turned grim. "Right, then what's the plan, Mr. General?" 

Katrin could already see the disappointing answer before the Brigadier General lowered his eyes away from Fullmetal. Trails of blood stained his face. "I don't know," he admitted. 

Edward didn't answer that at first. He bit his lip. "Right," he finally said quietly. "Well I'll just go back to being the only FUCKING person actually working on our problems." He was shouting now. "Mustang, meet Katrin. Excuse me, Miss Colman. You'll get along splendidly; you two can do nothing together!" 

At the angle they had dropped him, Mustang would have a hard time seeing Katrin, but she still felt self-conscious. Not that he bothered to really try to look in her direction. Instead, he decided to yell at his subordinate. 

"Could you be any more of a child!?" he shouted. "I never said I would take this lying down. I _said_ I don't know what to do, Edward. You know, honesty rather than false bravado! If you have some master plan, now would be the time to enlighten us. No?" Roy sneered, and Ed looked ready for round two. 

"Both of you stop it," Katrin murmured. Even though it was spoken in much softer tones, it rendered them both speechless. Elric jerked towards her and then immediately went back to glaring at Mustang, but the brigadier general's gaze lingered, taking her in. She saw that his eyes were hard and intelligent, but also pained. 

Bertram was terrified of this man. They said that the Flame had a will of steel to go along with his iced-over heart. Yet here he was shouting at his supposed attack-dog subordinate, the Fullmetal Alchemist. A young man who was turning out to be more like a human typhoon that any attack dog, all rage and blustering bouts of physical force _._ She could see now that Roy Mustang did not truly control Elric's actions. No, you didn’t tame a storm and call yourself its master. You could merely hope to direct its force. 

Her own heart felt like it was icing over, and she wondered if she were going into some deeper state of shock or if she was finally gathering her wits. _I am betrayed._ The words echoed across her mind, repeating and turning into a mantra. _I am betrayed. I am betrayed._ She addressed Mustang then, surprised at the clarity in her voice. "Edward tells me there might be a loosed pin in one of his cuffs. We were working on exploiting that when you were brought in." 

That might have been stretching it a bit with the 'we.’ Ed's look told her as much, but she persisted in facing Mustang. She sensed that he would respect her more if she didn't look away while he judged her. 

"Major Elric, how is that coming along?" he asked with all the professionalism he could muster. 

"Shitastically, sir," Ed said, his anger evident by the sarcasm dripping from his voice. 

Fullmetal’s attitude glanced off of the general like ice. "Well, we'll just have to come up with another plan, won't we?" Mustang said. 

*** 

**The Flame Alchemist** 

*** 

Roy Mustang was in a lot of physical pain. His head was splitting open, and he could taste blood in his mouth. The way his skin cracked when he moved his face told him that blood was dried in other places as well. That and Fullmetal's face told him about his condition plenty. Edward Elric could not hide an emotion to save his life. The girl, he had noticed immediately. She was his age, obviously in shock, and possessed a soft body. _Must be a pencil pusher that started to know too much. And brave to attempt to cut across Fullmetal's raving._

Roy had not had time to contemplate a new escape plan when they all heard footsteps accompanied by a voice whose chilling tone was easily recognized. Schmidt walked into the room with a piece of chalk in his hand and guards dragging two more people in chains behind them. 

He didn't speak, but rather bent down, frowned at the floor, and then began to sketch a large circle. That occupied him for a moment until Fullmetal interrupted him. 

"If you're going to kill us, I'd rather have it be quick and clean, if it's all the same to you. I'd prefer _not_ to die as fodder in some horrible alchemy experiment." 

Roy wanted to voice his agreement, but he held himself still, instead trying to study the alchemic circle and figure out what it was for. 

"Oh don't worry, child," the answer came in soft clipped tones, "You aren't fodder. You're the grand product." He turned to leer at Edward. "In fact, I'm giving you a gift. You should get on your knees and thank me." 

Ed's reply was an impressive glob of spit that nevertheless missed Schmidt by a few feet. 

Schmidt's mood soured instantaneously and Roy wanted to groan. Now was not the time for theatrics and bravado. 

The Major's tone was icy cold and dangerous. "I might have put up with your…ill attempted impudence in the presence of our dear friend Bertram, but I will not now." He cocked his head, eyed locked with Edward. "Not when I'm giving you a second chance, helping you even. Don't you understand? When we are through with this, I will be letting you go. Both of you." 

"Bullshit," Ed spat. 

"Truth. You serve me more alive at the moment." He laughed and turned to the two extra prisoners who had been deposited near Katrin. "No," he said. " _These_ are the fodder." 

He then continued drawing the circle, ignoring Ed's shouts, the prisoner’s struggles, and Katrin's shrieks. Roy himself was quiet. He had noticed that no mention had been made of Hawkeye and he wondered what that meant. Schmidt stood up and Roy caught a glimpse of the completed circle. 

It was shaped with large outer circle, containing two inner circles that connected with a balanced swirl. Inside each of the two inside circles were three smaller ones, zigzagged through with complicated designs. Roy had never seen anything like it. He and Ed were dragged to the two inner circles, Ed still trapped on his knees and Roy wrapped in bonds. The three sacrifices, which included the woman called Katrin, were placed around the edge of the circle. 

Katrin was crying in her place on the edge of the circle and the two others did not look much calmer. Even Ed seemed to be in shock, as he was not struggling against his bonds. It was strange, the position on his knees made Edward seem postulate, as if he were begging for forgiveness, rather than in danger for his life. 

"Time to get this show going, don't you think?" No one answered Schmidt, not that it seemed to do anything to his mood. He merely chuckled. 

Edward raised his head and spoke then, his voice ringing, "If you do this. I will never forgive you. I will follow you to the ends of the Earth, I _will_ punish you, and then I _will_ kill you." 

This did not seem to worry the Major. "Oh don't worry Edward, I wouldn't expect anything less." He met Edward's snarling eyes and proceeded to plunge his hands into the circle. In his place of honor, Roy felt it come to life. Huge, powerful streams of energy raced through every drawn line, the kind he had only felt once before in his life. _Human Transmutation_. 

It came for Edward first, building up around him, jutting columns of alchemy that encircled him. If he hadn't been on his knees before, he would be now. His back arched up in resistance to the power seeking an outlet through him, and he screamed shrilly. The lines of power all plunged into his chest at once, lighting his face in stark contrast. Roy watch as lines began to etch themselves into Edwards stomach, burning the flesh. 

Roy heard a high whine and suddenly realized that the lines were gathering power around him as well, reaching for the ceiling, just as they had for Edward. _Oh God, it's coming for me too_. This time he felt it for himself rather than seeing it happening to Edward. When the power rushed into his chest, he felt as if he was being split apart at the seams, his body broken down into pieces. Every muscle, every atom was on fire, shrieking in protest. He was sure he partially passed out, but then the etching started, and he knew a new level of agony. 

That was when things got a little hazy. There was a thunderous sound that Roy would have recognized as gunfire anywhere, and he saw the Major fall from the circle. This caused chaos in the lines of power. Roy got a glimpse of Riza as she barreled into Schmidt, dragging him away from the alchemy circle just as the lines reached for them. 

Roy wanted to scream at her, that the circle would devour Riza too, but they were saved by Edward, who now had his hands on the circle, replacing the Major. Through his haze, Roy was astonished. Edward's face stretched in a grimace as he struggled to call the power back to himself. _But he couldn't. Ed shouldn't be able to do anything with the alchemy._

"Mustang, help me!" Roy realized that Edward was calling desperately to him and that the rope that had bound him was burned away along with the front of his shirt. He was free, or at least, as free as he could be while trapped in the alchemy circle. The alchemy tore at them, out of control, licking at the fragile edges of the circle in an attempt to escape. If it did, then it would blow them all to high heaven with a terrible rebound. Roy didn’t want to know what sort of rebound a circle powered by the lives of three people would produce. 

With that thought, Roy slapped his hands on the circle as well and felt an immediate connection with it. He could sense it drawing towards Edward, but the movement was strange. Like all energy, alchemy always took the past of least resistance, but he could feel it moving through Roy's part of the circle, detouring before it obeyed Edward and channeled through him. No wonder Ed was having so much trouble bringing it back under control. 

"Let me lend you a hand, Fullmetal," Roy called gruffly, harkening back to earlier times. Edward didn't bother to look up at him, but yelled, "Just hurry the fuck up, Roy. I'm about to drop it all!" 

Roy frowned. The outer circle was supposed to call the power and contain it. The smaller circles inside were for stabilization, a second outlet for the extra power to feed through. To bleed out the power it should be simple to feed it through those circles until it stabilized, but Schmidt had made that impossible. Instead of using the circles how they were intended, they were acting more like miniature transmutations themselves. The more power he feed to them, the more the transmutation accelerated and the faster it destabilized. 

"Goddammit, how are we supposed to fix this, Ed?" Roy cried desperately. 

Edward jerked as a particularly large whip of power lashed at him. "You idiot, feed it through yourself!" 

That almost made Roy lose his concentration and hold on the alchemy all together. To feed it through himself would have been what he would have done with less complicated circles such as his basic flame alchemy. It was a good strategy for small or inherently stable transmutations. The reason he hadn't considered it was that if larger, more powerful transmutations needed more energy than could be taken from the earth, the transmutation would take it from the alchemist instead, resulting in a rebound that would tear at one's flesh. Edward had experienced a version of that when his failed human transmutation had rebounded on him and his brother. Alchemists experienced it when they did not draw a transmutation properly and called more power than the circle could hold. Ed was telling him to sacrifice himself as a circle, rather than attempt to use the drawn circles. 

"Just do it!" Ed screamed. 

"Urg." If they didn't control this transmutation soon, it _would_ rebound, regardless of whether they feed it properly through the inside circles or not. It had lost its stabilization the instant Schmidt had dropped it, and an uncontrolled rebound would attack everyone in the room. To focus it on himself would keep the rebound trapped with him and Edward rather than the other people. 

When Roy clapped and started feeding it through himself, something clicked and the alchemy stopped attempting to escape the boundary. Instead, it started eating at him, pulling at his flesh and breaking it down. It was horrifying. Roy's entire body was broken down, and his last thought was that he was going to kill Edward for pulling him into this. 

*** 

The first thing Roy was aware of was the sound of crying. It was a broken, terrible sound, and as soon as Roy realized that, he also understood that it was Edward he was hearing. Ed was making those agonized noises. He felt he should probably seek Edward out and comfort him, but the world was empty, an endless white plain, and his head was behaving a bit sluggishly. 

"Fullmetal," he called out hesitantly. No one answered. 

He looked down at himself and was surprised at what he saw. He was naked, but there was a horrible mark on his stomach, stretching from his navel just under his breastbone. It was a circle, etched into his skin as if with a knife, crisscrossed with lines, and dripping blood. 

Roy was interrupted from his self-examination by a strange noise. _“Please, you can't do this!”_ The voice was everywhere and nowhere at the same time. It was in his head but he could also physically hear it. And it was most definitely Edward. 

_“I never wanted this! Please punish me, just don't take it out on him”_ The sob echoed across everything and nothing, and Roy was terrified now. Edward was many things, but it took a lot to make him beg. Roy could not even remember a time he had heard him do so. Frantically staring around, Roy tried to make out anything in the void. 

"Edward!" he cried again. 

"Mustang." The voice called back, though it was quiet and this time merely physical. Roy jerked around, following his ears, and saw that Ed was on his knees behind Roy, facing away from him. 

"There you are," Roy said as gently as he could. He moved slowly around to face Edward. Ed was still on his knees, naked just like the Brigadier General. All of his bandages were missing, and Roy could see a gash on his forehead, where a mass of dried blood had matted in his hair. His flesh leg was not much better off. The break in the thigh was visible, along with severe bruising on his knee. Even Ed's automail looked out of shape, as it hadn't been oiled in almost a week. However, the worst was his chest. It was the same as Roy's, bleeding and raw. 

"Ed, say something to me, please." Roy was afraid to touch the blonde, so he knelt in front of him instead. "Please." 

Edward looked up at that, his eyes empty and haunted. "Mustang," he whispered. 

"Yeah I'm here, you idiot." 

"No, Mustang. You don't understand. The whole time, you never understood." Ed was shaking and his voice dropped off. He tried to turn away, but Roy clasped him by the chin, and drew his eyes back to his fellow alchemist. 

"Then explain it, Edward. Tell me what's wrong!" Roy demanded forcefully. 

Ed hesitated, and his one-word answer was not what Roy expected. 

"Alphonse. " 

That took Roy aback, and he was about to question Ed further when they were interrupted. 

_“That's right Edward Elric.”_ This voice had the same strange quality as Ed's had before Roy had found him. 

Edward's reaction was to quiver and cast his gaze around frantically. Roy followed his gaze, and then they both saw the white figure standing before them, still and unnatural. 

_The Truth. The World. God._

“You haven't honored the terms of our bargain, Edward,” it said, its voice echoing judgmentally. 

Edward began to cry, though he was clearly and furiously trying not to. He attempted to stand up, jerking and hissing as the weight hit his bad leg. Finally, he managed by resting all of his weight on his automail, his broken flesh dangling sideways. __

Roy also moved, standing close to Edward in a defensive position. He cast his arm protectively in front of the Fullmetal, aware that Edward wasn't in the best shape at the moment, and addressed the Being, "And just what bargain was this?" 

The Truth faced him as much as a being without eyes could, and it laughed. "Roy Mustang, it's been a while. I hope you have enjoyed my gift." It smirked and Roy scowled. 

"I've had about all the gifts I want for one lifetime, actually." 

The Truth turned back to Edward and Roy tensed. "You swore to give your Gate up in exchange for your brother. You told me that human was all you had ever been. And yet here you are, trying to get it all back,” it said solemnly. 

"Keep the Gate," Ed gasped. "I don't want this, I never wanted it." 

He was stopped as the creature suddenly moved forward, its unnatural face directly in front of them. When It spoke again, its voice was thunderous and accusing, and it again echoed through all of their being. 

_“But that's a lie, Edward Elric. Remember, I am you, just as I am the world. I know. I know you have not learned as you should have. You still covet what was once instead of what is.”_ It drew back and spoke in steadier tones. "But I will give you what you have paid for, Edward Elric." 

"And Alphonse?" Edward cried, oblivious to anything else. 

The Truth sighed. "Your brother is not a part of this bargain." 

Ed nearly collapsed at that, and that was when Roy tried to grab and steady him. His arm brushed against the bleeding wound on Ed's chest, and the effect of their touching was instantaneous. The two transmutation circles glowed as a single Gate appeared and began to open. It was the same one Roy had seen three years ago, twisted through with markings related to his flame alchemy. 

"Have fun," the truth leered as both Ed and Roy were sucked through the Gate to be transported back to the other side. 

*** 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Updates will still be slow as I work on my other story. But I thank everyone who commented and kudoed the first chapter. Y'all are the best. <3


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